Never Too Late

[Oriena]

“Oriena,” she snapped, both for the ma’am and Nox’s liberty with her name. Her dark stare was still on Jensen while she unzipped the pocket housing Nox’s wallet, and threw it in his direction without care for where on his injured body it landed. A little extra pain wouldn’t matter now the healer was here. From the casual cruelty of the gesture it was clear there was a reign on her anger, but that it still burned fiercely nonetheless.

“That’s precious,” she scathed to the misplaced kindness. The pity was foolish. As was his promise. He wasn’t a man she wanted to owe anything to, and she’d never beg another soul for help, even if she needed it. She was far past saving anyway.

When the ijiraq fled into her during the ball’s aftermath, the Ascendancy had walked away from her pain and the way she had been used. She had no doubt his people would have killed her had she not fathomed a way to save herself with that fucking oath. Yet the moment the danger to his own self had been eclipsed, so too had his attention. And truly, what real fear could a man like that know with a miracle worker at his fingertips? Jensen was a pet kept on a gilded leash. Hidden away because he was valuable. A fucking safety blanket.

Vengeance itched under her skin, not entirely her own, for she could feel now all the shifting about in her mind as the hive riffled through her memories. She had followed Jensen to Nox’s bedside, a predatory stalk. Her fingers pinched around his upper arm. “Who heals the healer?” she asked, languid with threat.